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To Fix You
It's cold. I don't know where I am. Why am I so cold? I should open my eyes. I need to open my eyes. Are these my eyes? I bring up a hand and I touch my face. It's smooth. I have a nose. And eyes. I open my eyes. I look around. Do I live here? Where exactly is here? The walls are old. I must not be a very good homeowner because even I can see the walls are slowly rotting away. Why did I let my home decay like this? Is this my home? I sit up. My body feels strange, almost like I don't belong in this body. I look around. I have to see what I look like. There is something I'm supposed to remember. Something important. Why is there no mirror in here? Why do I wear a nightgown? Am I old? As I stand, I can feel my vision graying a bit and I blink until I can see the door again. Where are my shoes? Why don't I have a dresser in my bedroom? There are some slippers by the wall; maybe I should put them on. I put them on. They're too thin. It hurts my feet. I open the door, or, rather, try to. It's not opening. I have to open the door. I knock on the door. Why have I locked it? Where is my key? Finally, it opens. Oh, I seem to have a lady friend. "I can't remember you," I say. It feels familiar. She sighs but opens the door, letting me out. "That's normal, Mister Jones," she says and I step out into the corridor. "Why don't I have a dresser in my room? Where are my clothes?" I ask her. "Talk to the doctor, Mister Jones," she says and closes my door. Then she locks it. "Should I have a key to my own door?" I ask her. She sighs and walks down the corridor. How rude. At least, my name is Mister Jones. Now I know. I walk after her. There has to be someone else in this place. There's a lot of doors here. Maybe they can tell me what I look like. "Excuse me, can I have a mirror?" I ask my lady friend. "No, Mister Jones. You may not." She unlocks a door and I hear screaming. Why are there screaming people at my house? "Mister Jones, the doctor will come shortly," she says. Oh. I'm sick. That's okay, the doctor will fix me. "Am I sick?" I ask. My lady friend snorts and walks into the room she just opened, the room with the screaming. Is it my imagination or is this place getting darker? Oh, there's a person. Maybe I look like him. "Hello? I'm Mister Jones. Who might you be?" "Go! Run!" the man hisses as he walks past. "Run, dammit!" So I do. Just a few steps until there is a doctor there. He certainly looks like one. "Mister Jones, come with me, please," he says. "Oh, good, are you going to fix me?" I ask. He nods and I follow him. The lights seem to blink. Must be an electrical problem. "Why do I keep my home in such poor condition?" I ask the doctor. He sighs and leads me to a door. "Sit," he says. I sit. A man comes out on a gurney; he's sleeping. He must have been fixed. Just like I am going to. "Mister Jones, we're ready for you." The doctor comes out again and I stand, following him. "Lay down," he says. I lay down. They fasten leather straps around my wrists and ankles. "Bite on this," the doctor says and offer me something to bite on. "Why?" I ask. "To fix you," he answers and I nod, biting down on it. There is a flutter in the lights and a loud buzzing sound. And then there's pain. So much pain. And then, darkness. It's cold. I don't know where I am. Why am I so cold? I should open my eyes. I need to open my eyes. Are these my eyes? Category:Mental Illness